Journey's End
by Rivario
Summary: Bobby's thoughts on the events in his life, that affected him deeply. Starting at Jack's funeral then looking back throughout his life, before coming to Evelyn and after.
1. Coming to terms

**Journey's End**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters in this story, its actually a piece of descriptive writing I did for English and I decided to put it on here to see what people think of it.

**Bobby's POV**

I sniffed loudly and wiped away my tears in my eyes with the back of my hand as the casket was ever so slowly lowered deep into the ground. It had yet to sink in that he was gone, my little brother, he who I'd taunted for so long with question about his sexuality. The same kid who had came to mom at the age of 10, frightened and alone, was, dead. He was only 19. Not even old enough to have a clue about what he was going to do with himself or where he was going in life.

'It should be me. It should be me.' The words repeated themselves over and over.

'Jack should be here, it's your fault Bobby, it's all your fault.' And it is. If I hadn't come back in the first place, Jackie would still be alive.

"Are you alright man?"

I turned and looked at Angel and nodded then sniffed again. "These people are gonna pay Angel. I swear to God. I'll kill them. Victor Sweet did this and I swear, I'll kill the bas…"

"Bobby. We're in a cemetery. Not here alright?" Jerry said, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I looked at him and shook my head, how could he be so calm about all of this? Victor Sweet has put our baby brother in the ground for Gods sake. I wanted him dead.

It was too early in the morning for getting him though, and I wanted Jack to have a day, at least, to be remembered. I bit my lip at the thought of ever forgetting him. I'll never forget him, nor will I forget mom, but whatever I do, I'll get revenge and I'm not showing anyone mercy. Victor Sweet and all of his clowns are going to pay.

I looked around the empty graveyard, Jerry and Angel had headed back home. I didn't want to leave, I wanted to stay, with Jack, I had to tell him how sorry I was, how bad I felt for this. The kid always looked up to me, something I never really understood. Ma always said it was because I had that natural thing going on, I was a good role model. I used to laugh at that, me, Bobby Mercer, a good role model, yeah right. I smiled at the thought of mom, what a saint, taking in four delinquents the way she did, she really was a saint.

Sometimes, I feel bad, I was never the same as Jack or Jerry or even Angel, they'd all accomplished something, but me, well, I was just trouble, since the day mom took me in, to the day I left Detroit. I gave a faint sigh and looked down at the mud, which was now covering the casket; I shook my head, it looked funny, the dirty brown mud mashed in with the snow. I shook my head yet again.

"Oh Jackie," I whispered, my voice cracking.

Before I knew it I was bawling, bad, maybe even worse than I had when I found out about mom. It had hit me, they were gone, they were actually gone, two of the most amazing people I'd met in my entire life were dead.

Evelyn Mercer, the most amazing woman in the world, so real, so tough yet so sweet, hard but soft, and most of all incredibly loving. She was amazing, she really was.

And Jack, well you'd never have met a more caring guy, if you'd searched the whole world. I'll admit sometimes I got a little aggravating, but that was very rare, and it made him who he was, he wouldn't have been Jack if he was any different. He was a good kid, he'd been through so much too, the kid was tough, yet he was terrified of hurting people, of doing wrong. It's unexplainable really; he was just Jack, Jack Mercer.

I took a final glance at the grave and kissed the tips of my fingers then placed them on top of the headstone. This was it, the journeys end for Little Jackie, my baby brother.


	2. Looking Back

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story.

I slowly trailed away from the graveyard, not once looking back, I wanted to, I really did, but I couldn't, I don't know why, I just couldn't. I felt like a part of me had been taken away, stolen from me, I hadn't felt like this for a long, long time. This brought a thought upon me, memories, of my life, before everything, before I even lived with Ma, before I was a Mercer, before I was anyone.

"_Bobby! Bobby! Get ya ass down 'ere now you sonuvabitch!" 'Dad' called_

_I cursed under my breath and stood up, taking a deep breath as I prepared myself for what was about to happen. The experience was all too familiar, but one I was accustomed to by now. It happened, every other day; he seemed to have a schedule for it. The beatings, well, they seemed to be, some what, more frequent and random, they could come at any time, rain or shine, night or day, it didn't matter, if he wanted someone to beat on, and I was there, I'd get it. I never bothered to tell anyone, I didn't want people to judge me, so I let it happen, but I'd never bring someone home, not even if I was paid too do it. It happened sometimes though, that social services would come by, someone had heard screaming and shouting and had called them, he liked that, he liked it a lot, he'd pretend like we were all happy families and shit, act like he was the proud father and I was the kid, the kid who was constantly getting in fights, a real little rebellion, bullshit, I wasn't the worst kid in school, nah, that wasn't my scene, I preferred to keep my mouth shut, I didn't ask for trouble, I didn't get trouble, so I kept it that way, but when the socials came round, it was different, I acted like that was me, like I was that rebellious kid. I hated those times, more than anything, the motherfucker who called socials, had no idea what they'd done, just how much they'd interfered and how deep in shit I was after a visit. Eventually, I slowly started turning into that kid, the rebellion, but it didn't make him proud, no, it just made him despise me all the more, it gave him a kick, seeing me try to fight back and defend myself and it made me develop a deep hatred towards the bastard. Of course he wasn't my real dad. Nah, I'd never known him, never known anyone, had been in and out of foster homes since I was born. At first, everything was alright, I had a pretty ok life up until the day I did something wrong, spilt something, ripped something, broke something, those were the times that made everything start to turn._

"_What do you want?" I asked, even though it was pretty damn obvious what he wanted from me._

"_Don't you get wise with me boy?" He yelled, grabbing me by the collar and pushing me up against the wall._

"_I ain't doing nothing you motherfucker!" I screamed, kicking my legs at him._

_He just laughed and took a swig of beer then dropped me on the floor and kicked me, I winced, clutching my stomach as I felt his foot colliding with my skin, each time, leaving a deep dent in it, breaking it, drawing blood, just what he wanted. I didn't try to stop him, there was no stopping him, I just let him do it, then stumbled to my feet and ran upstairs to my room. I sat on my bed, for about three hours, just crying and shaking, it was what I'd do every time he did it. I sat on the bed, putting a cigarette to my lips and taking a long drag to settle my nerves, I only smoked when I was nervous or something bad had happened. I waited there, just sitting, until I heard him going to bed, then silently tip toed across the room and grabbed my rucksack out of the closet and started throwing clothes into it. I slowly opened the door, taking a glance along the corridor to make sure his bedroom door was shut then crept across the hallway and down the stairs, I jumped each time a stair creaked or I heard a light noise, every time, nothing, just me and my nerves. _

_I gave a faint sigh of relief as I got outside then ran, ran as far as I could, and as fast as I could, I headed for the train station, but must've blacked out, because the next thing I knew, I was waking up, in someone else's bed._

"_Well hello there honey. It's nice to see you awake at last." A small woman with blonde curls said cheerfully. _

_I looked at her and raised an eyebrow then put a hand to my head "Where am I?" I asked_

_She smiled at me "You're at Apple way foster home dear. You were found at the train station, knocked out, my name is Evelyn Mercer."_

_I nodded "Bobby." I replied, sitting up in the bed. _

"_So, Bobby, would you like to tell me what happened?" She asked, putting her hands together and looking in the eyes. _

_I looked at her and nodded, there was something about her, I felt as though I could trust her, like I'd known her forever, so I told her, everything, from start to finish, she didn't say anything, just listened intently to every word that came out of my mouth. Once I was finished she took my hand in hers and smiled then said. _

"_Everything's going to be alright." She reassured me._

_I just stared at her blankly; everything was going to be alright? She had no idea, sure she seemed like a nice lady, but when the old man found out about this, I was dead for sure. I shook my head and then pushed the covers back and got up. _

"_Where are my clothes la-Ms Mercer?" I asked "Where's my stuff?" _

"_Bobby…you can't go back, we can help you. I can help you."_

"_I don't need help from nobody. I don't want your…your charity." I snapped then immediately felt guilty. _

_I looked at her for a second and then sighed "I'm sorry, but I need to leave. I just need to." _

_She looked at me, her eyes slightly narrowed and lips partly open. "I'm helping you Bobby, because I want to help you. I want the best for you and I am not going to give up." She said a little sharper than I'd thought she could. _

_I was halfway out the door when she said this but something beyond my control stopped me, I had no idea what it was, but it was like I couldn't move any further. This lady was different, I'd never met anybody like her in my whole life, I found myself unable to walk out on her, it just felt…wrong._

I wiped once more at my face as I dawned upon the house, memories were flooding back to me by the second, I'd never forgotten the day I met mom, but it was different, she wasn't my mom when I met her, she was just…some old lady.


End file.
